


Blood On My Name

by klowntatorship



Series: Dragon Age Fics [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst, Crying During Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, M/M, Making Love, Porn with Feelings, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition Quest - Here Lies the Abyss, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Veslyn is just going through it okay someone give him a hug, no beta we die like men, very brief - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:15:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27570643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klowntatorship/pseuds/klowntatorship
Summary: The sun hangs low in the sky, the way it begins to hide behind the mountains causing shadows to grow around them. They nip at him, willing him back into that comfortable darkness hidden away from prying eyes. It was a place of comfort; he knew how to navigate the shadows. To be unseen by others. It was an advantage on the battlefield, creeping up to enemies before tearing them apart in a spray of viscera and blood. The elf was deadly, a force to be reckoned with, but now he felt a stranger in his own body. Confused, scared, and small.
Relationships: Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus, Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus, Male Lavellan/Dorian Pavus
Series: Dragon Age Fics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2015296
Kudos: 22





	Blood On My Name

Nobody anticipated entering the fade to leave him unscathed. Nobody really knew what to expect but to see this? They weren’t exactly expecting this. The way the Inquisitor seemed to just disappear in on himself. It could be seen in his eyes, the way he moved, and the way he carried himself through conversations or correspondence. It was detached, not all there, and hardly present. 

They had been back in Skyhold for a week now; in between important meetings and duties, Veslyn didn’t leave his chambers. He made a point to keep himself from public eyes. He didn’t wish for rumors to be spread of him, to hear of his weakness. To have them know that this got to him. As much as he wanted to lock himself away, he still had enough sense to know that he couldn’t turn his back on his people. They looked up to him and fought alongside him. So he carried out his duties to delegate, keeping the Inquisition afloat like a marionette.

There’s a hollowness that fills his chest, expanding until it scrapes at his rib cage with each breath. It’s been with him since they entered the fade, but he had no choice but to push through it. He would not let Corypheus win, not while there was still blood pumping through his veins. Not while he still had breath in his lungs. But now? Within the safety of Skyhold, he could feel himself begin to crumble. The weight of the world ready to shatter around him, crush him without so much of a second thought.

He’s sat on the ledge of his balcony, precariously teetering on edge. It does not scare him; he wishes it did. Wishes he could feel something. Something other than the dread that curls around him, choking the life out of him slowly. He takes a puff off his pipe, letting the smoke burn at his lungs until a cough bubbles up from within him. The smell of elf root is pungent, swirling around him before dissipating into the bitter winds of the mountainous range. 

He doesn’t hear when Dorian steps foot onto the balcony; he’s quiet as if hoping that not alerting the Inquisitor of his presence would leave less room for the man to run and avoid him more than he already had been. Dorian clears his throat, and Veslyn tosses him a bit of a look. He watches the way the anger on Dorian’s face falls, the way his face shifts and twists into one of concern. 

He doesn’t answer, takes another hit off his pipe. A desperate attempt at seeking some relief, to feel something other than this terror. To get that voice out of his head. The voice was low, almost soothing, but it filled him with dread despite its calming and even tone. They spoke of how it once had good intentions, intentions to help alleviate the fear. Now it did nothing but prey upon their fears, upon his fears. Feasting upon them till he was sated, but with a taste for fear, Veslyn knew that demon would never be.

“Is this what you’ve been doing these past few days up here? Smoking away your problems?” There’s a hint of bitterness in his words, sharp and calculated. They are intended to provoke the elf, to spark some sort of fight between them: something, _anything_. Even a fight was better than the deafening silence that bloomed between them.

“And working.” Veslyn says, staring over the ledge. He considers it for the briefest of moments, but the thought is gone as soon as it comes. He wasn’t that far gone. “I have a lot of reports to fill out, letters to send and documents to approve.”

“And what have I said about working yourself to the bone?” Dorian chastised, keeping his movements slow as he approached the Inquisitor. His actions mirror those trying to corral a timid animal as if any sharp movement will send the elf scattering. Holding out his hand for the man, he isn’t sure if Veslyn will take it or continue to ferment on these negativities. But to his delight, Veslyn does take his hand and allows himself to be pulled from the edge. 

The elfs skin is cold, icy to the touch. Dorian wonders how long he had been out here for and how he could possibly stand the cold, especially with the way it reddened under the winds around them. He pulls the man closer, leading him into the bedroom before closing the stained glass doors. Dorian moves to stand in front of him, arms crossed over his chest as his eyes roll over the man, observing him and picking him apart with his steel gaze. 

“Have you been eating?” Dorian queries, quirking a brow. He knows the answer by the way Veslyn reacts. At least there’s some shame to it, he supposes, that was better than that hollow, far off gaze Veslyn seemed to don these days. “Come, let’s go get something to eat.” Veslyn looks like he’s about to protest, mouth opening to voice only to shut once more when Dorian shoots him a look. “It _wasn’t_ a suggestion, my dear.”

Veslyn doesn’t put a fight up after that. There was a dulled warmth that spread through his veins at Dorian’s compassion. It was one of the first feelings, pleasant feelings he’s felt since returning from the fade. Yet despite the heat that bloomed, it didn’t shake the heaviness in his bones.

He lets himself be dragged to the tavern, tries not to pay any mind to the eyes that linger on him. Questioning gazes, concerned faces, carefully hidden judgment perhaps. He isn’t sure and doesn’t wish to dwell on it. Knows better than to let it consume his thoughts. 

The sun hangs low in the sky, the way it begins to hide behind the mountains causing shadows to grow around them. They nip at him, willing him back into that comfortable darkness hidden away from prying eyes. It was a place of comfort; he knew how to navigate the shadows. To be unseen by others. It was an advantage on the battlefield, creeping up to enemies before tearing them apart in a spray of viscera and blood. The elf was deadly, a force to be reckoned with, but now he felt a stranger in his own body. Confused, scared, and small. 

Once they reach the tavern, they take a seat in a secluded alcove, far from prying eyes and eavesdroppers. Krem, Varric, and Bull shoot him a look of concern; they don’t hide it. Veslyn briefly wonders if Bull will approach them, perhaps with a stick to strike the fear out of him. He wonders what Dorian’s reaction would be to such a brutish display. He wonders if it would work, and he’s almost mad enough to be willing to test such a theory. 

“Wait here, I’ll be back.” Dorian says once Veslyn is settled on in his seat. Once he’s sure that the rogue is settled, he leaves to grab something for the elf to consume. In the meantime, Veslyn takes in the surroundings of The Herald’s rest. The light was dim, casting shadows over the faces of the patrons that littered the establishment. It was warm in here, warmer than his bedroom had been. Perhaps due to the fact he always seemed to forget to close those doors that lead to the balconies. It enveloped him like a blanket. It made him feel safe to be around so many people. There was soft chatter, too quiet for him to distinguish throughout the tavern, but he could make out tones; some were serious, some jovial, and some full of sorrow. There was so much going on around him. There was so much going on beyond his own experiences. 

The minstrel begins to play a familiar tune, Enchanter filling the tavern walls, his focus narrows in on it. It overshadows any of the chatter he had been hearing, the noises fading into the sound of the lute being strummed, and the woman’s voice. He did love this song; hearing the woman’s voice, soft and melodious, brought him a sense of peace. Perhaps locking himself away had not been the answer to shaking that feeling of dread. But could everyone always expect the Inquisitor to be wise? He was a man first, a Dalish elf before any of this Harold business began. 

Dorian returns once again, setting a plate down in front of him, along with a stein. He takes a seat across from him and gives him a soft smile. “You already look better, amatus.”

Veslyn’s cheek flushes at that slightly as he reaches for the stein to take a swig. Dorian chuckles a bit at that. Of course, he’d go for the liquor before anything worth any sustenance. He lets out a hum as the ale fills his mouth. It has hints of spices that warm his mouth and his throat. It takes a lot for him not to slam down the drink, but he wants to enjoy it. It’s the first thing to touch his tongue that didn’t taste of ash and death. It didn’t curdle in his mouth. It only left a pleasant feeling to radiate through him. Next, he begins to dig into the food in front of him. It was chicken, cooked perfectly with a mixture of spices and herbs and a side of potatoes. It was more than he had consumed all week. Though that wasn’t much of a feat, a couple rolls of bread weren’t exactly much to satiate someone. 

Dorian watches the man eat in silence, his gaze caring, concerned with hints of patience. This had been the longest he had seen the man for the past week. Something strange for them as in Skyhold, when the rogue wasn’t in meetings or at his war table, he preferred to spend his time with the Tevinter. There had been some rumors in passing that perhaps the scandalous love affair between the two had ended. They wondered where that would take the Inquisition? How would the world react to another elf scorn by another Tevinter? It wasn’t a rare tale but had never been seen in such a context. Of course, those were only rumors. There was nothing wrong between the two of them, not really. Dorian knew that Veslyn needed some space, needed time to decompress from what had happened. Though now he’s seeing that perhaps that was the wrong course to take, that he should’ve forced himself past the Inquisitor’s walls. That was in the past; it wasn’t important now that they were here. 

“I trust you’re feeling better?” Dorian asks once Veslyn’s plate was mostly cleared, and his stein had begun to grow lighter. 

“Yes… Thank you, really.” He nods his head at that before turning his gaze to the table. Calloused hands traced patterns into the grooves of the wooden table, nervous and riddled with shame. “I’m sorry for my, um, behavior.”

“It’s fine, no one expected you to be okay after that. Everyone was shaken by it.” Dorian assures, reaching out to place a hand atop of the elfs fidgeting one. Even through the leather glove, it radiated warmth, magic thrumming through the veins that of his marked hand. 

“It still wasn’t right. I shouldn’t have let it get to me. I need to be stronger.” Veslyn argued, lavender eyes lifting to almost glared at the other. Tears were stinging at the corners, threatening to spill over. “I let people die. Hawke died because of me.”

“Do you hear yourself right now?” Dorian asks, there was quiet fury rising in his voice despite his hushed tone “That is not how I hear you talk to others, to Cole, Bull or even Sera.” The way he lingers on the woman’s name shows he’s aware of the tension between the two. “You must show compassion for yourself too. Your people know the risks they’re taking, they aren’t dying because of you.”

Veslyn doesn’t say anything to that, only hums as if considering it. Which Dorian thinks is better than a flat out refusal. Wiping his eyes, he turned to look over at the group of his friends sitting around a table, having what seemed like a good time.

“Would you be okay, if we joined them?” Veslyn asked, almost timidly seeking the man’s approval as he gestures to Bull, Krem, and Varric sitting at a table.

Dorian looks at him, shocked that he was even seeking approval, before laughing, “Of course love, you ask as if I’d say no.” He gets to his feet and smiles at the man, “I’m just glad to see you out of that room.”

Veslyn gets to his feet as well, taking care to return his finished plate and emptied stein before the two made their way to their friends. He may have been raised roaming the Free Marches, but he wasn’t uncivilized.

“Good to see you, Boss.” Iron Bull’s voice is booming, a slight slur to his tone, indicating that he must be more than a few drinks deep. Veslyn takes a seat on an empty stool, Dorian taking his place next to the man. 

“You too, Bull.” Veslyn smiles easily. It isn’t forced, and it comes easy. Varric gives him a firm pat on the back, his eyes glassy and grin wide. His energy is infectious.

“You going to be around long enough to drink? Or are you strictly on the pipe?” Varric’s voice is teasing, and Veslyn can’t help but flush at that. He thought he was discreet about that aspect of himself. It was relatively normal within his clan, but he supposed it was peculiar to people outside. Worrisome at worst. “Don’t worry, I won’t sick Cas on ya.”

“Thanks.” Veslyn rubs the back of his neck and laughs softly. “A few drinks wouldn’t hurt.”

And from there, the weight only continued to lift off of Veslyn’s heavy shoulders. It was good to be laughing and drinking in the company of friends. He felt at home here, like he had a defined place among his groups and that he was right where he needed to be. That he was making the right choices and leading them to the victory, the Thedas needed. At least for the time being, which was better than nothing.

The two only decided to take their leave when Bull had broken out a cask of what he remembered Bull calling ‘Maraas-Lok’ he wasn’t sure if that was the actual name, only that it was one hell of a drink. 

It was dark now outside the tavern. The sun had fully set. It was a lovely night, and it was nice to see it from more than just his balcony. He missed the way the earth sunk between his feet, and it almost made him homesick. He wondered how his clan was doing. He hoped that they were okay. Veslyn almost felt bad for not thinking of them more, but between all the foreign politics that made his head spin and avoiding getting himself gutted like a fish, there was little time to ruminate on his clan. Perhaps he could ask Leliana to check up on them if she had the time.

They make their way back to Veslyn’s room, the drinks they consumed, making the world around them move slowly. It made his head spin in such a way that he couldn’t help but welcome it. The drinks he had buzzed through his body made him feel like himself again. It was like before he had entered the fade before that dullness settled in the pit of his belly and gnawed at him like a ravenous beast. For the time being, those feelings fled to some dark corner of his mind. Surely to plague him later, but right now, his attentions were on Dorian.

Hands are quick to pull his tunic up and over his head tossed off to some corner of the large room for later. The room is still cold. The fire went out some time ago. Yet that only served for Dorian’s warm hands against his naked chest to feel electric. Veslyn draws the man closer, pulls him in for a deep kiss as clumsy hands try to undo the elaborate clothing Dorian insisted on wearing. No matter how many times he tried, he never quite got the hang of it. But he’d be lying if he said Dorian didn’t look good.

Dorian couldn’t help but laugh at him, moving to remove his own clothes and toss them in a pile on the floor. Too eager to finally be touching the Inquisitor to care about folding his clothes as usual. They make quick work of the rest of their clothing, stopped only by lingering kisses and wandering hands. They were like desperate giddy teenagers.

“Come, let’s move this to the bed shall we?” Dorian proposed, not waiting for an answer before leading the other to the large bed in the center of the room. Veslyn gets into the bed with no protest, settling in the middle of it, the bed dipping beneath this weight. Dorian follows after him, getting into the bed and settling on top of the man, leaning over him to press a deep kiss to the elf’s lips. Softly, he holds the man’s face in his hands, rough thumbs brushing over chiseled tattooed cheeks.

There are emotions that well up within his chest, making it feel like his throat is closing up at the feeling of Dorian’s lips on his, the feeling of his touch full of adoration and loving intent. It makes him want to cry, and he’s not sure if it’s from the shame of his actions or from the feeling of being so loved in times where he can’t find it in himself to love himself. He does not cry. Instead, he kisses Dorian back with fever. He wanted to chase this feeling; he wanted to feel every Dorian had to offer him. 

Drawing back slightly, Dorian drags his lips from Veslyn’s lips, down his jaw to his neck to nip and bite at the pale flesh. Running his hands over the chiseled chest, he admires each and every aspect of it, from the scars that marred his skin to his pink nipples and to each line of golden ink that painted his body in intricate designs. He was perfect in Dorian’s eyes. Leaning down, he begins to kiss at his neck, working his way down to press kisses over the expanse of the elf’s chest.

“Tell me if you want to stop amatus,” Dorian mumbled against his chest, tongue poking over to drag over one of the pretty pink nipples. He still wasn’t entirely sure where Veslyn was mentally, and the last thing he wanted to do was make the man feel worse.

“Please don’t.” Veslyn urges, his voice is breathless. His chest arches up into the mage’s mouth, hand coming up to thread through dark hair and tussle it out of its usually immaculate presentation. “I need this. I need you.” 

Dorian spends some time alternating between Veslyn’s nipples, sucking and nipping them till they’re red and sore. Till Veslyn is breathlessly whining below him, rolling his hips up for some sort of friction on his slowly filling cock. As much as he adored teasing the man, to tear him apart, he wanted to give Veslyn more. To provide him with his all, to give him everything he deserved, and to make him feel loved. To make him feel whole again. 

He shifts the elf how he pleases to settle between Veslyn’s legs. He takes note of the anticipation on the elf’s face as he traced deft fingertips up the insides of his thighs. A shiver rolled through Veslyn at that, and Dorian couldn’t help but smile. A short muttered incantation left the man’s lips before oiled fingers made their way to a massage at Veslyn’s entrance. He gently pushed the tip of his finger in enough to breach but not enough to provide any pleasure. Veslyn rocked back greedily, desperate for more. 

Slowly, he pushed more of his finger into the man taking note of how tight he was over just one finger. It made him eager to be inside of him, to feel his tight walls squeezing his cock and sucking him in. He pressed deeper, seeking that spot that would slowly make the man come undone. When he found it, Veslyn’s back arched sharply, a soft whisper of Dorian’s name leaving his lips. With that, he added another finger, scissoring them and stretching them for a few minutes before he added a third. It had been a while since they had been intimate, so he wanted to take extra caution as to not hurt the man. This was about making him feel good, not about causing the man more pain than he already held within him. 

Gently, he pulls his fingers out before leaning over Veslyn to kiss him, his tongue gently prodding into his mouth. They remain like that for a moment, tongues slowly sliding against each other, mapping out each other’s mouth with no haste. When they pull away from each other, it’s just for air. Their chests rise and fall in tandem. There’s a look of need on Veslyn’s face. A silent plea was written across his face in lust. His cheeks were tinged pink. 

“Are you ready?” Veslyn nodded, hands trailing up Dorian’s tanned arms. “I need to hear you say it, amatus.” 

“I’m ready, ma vhenan.” That was all Dorian needed to hear before he moved into a comfortable position. Reaching down, he took his own cock between his hands, stroking himself a few times to coat himself in lube before the head of his cock pressed against Veslyn’s entrance. His hand rests upon Veslyn’s thighs as he slowly pushes into the man. 

“ _Kaffas_ ,” Dorian can’t help the sigh of contentment that leaves his lips as he watches the way his cock sinks into Veslyn. That tight heat pulling him inside and squeezing him in such a divine way. He turned his attention to Veslyn once he was fully sheathed, pleased to find the other man laying there with his eyes hardly open, moans cascading past parted lips. Leaning down, he wrapped the other man up in his arms before dragging his cock out to thrust back in.

It was a good feeling, being filled up by Dorian. He felt full, pleasure washing over his body with each movement. It was enough to completely take his mind off things; he could allow himself a much needed recess from his own mind and lose himself to the throes of pleasure. At least for the time being, all that mattered was Dorian and him.

“I love you,” Dorian murmurs, pressing kisses to every expanse of flesh he could reach like this. His movements aren’t rough or hasty; they’re slow and purposeful. Hard enough to rock the Inquisitor from his place in the bed, but still, he remained secure within Dorian’s embrace.

Tears begin to prickle at the corners of Veslyn’s eyes, threatening to spill. His lower lip began to tremble, and he turned to press his face into Dorian’s arm. 

Dorian is quick to drawback, concern flashing over his face as he stares at Veslyn. His brows knit together, a few lines forming along his brow which if Dorian knew about, he’d be sure to throw a fit. “Ves, are you alright?” 

“I’m sorry.” His voice breaks as he speaks, a few tears spilling down his cheeks, searing the skin in their wake. “Dorian, I was so scared. _I am so fucking scared_. What if I fail? What if I can’t be what the people need me? What if-” Dorian cuts him off, pressing a kiss to his forehead. He holds the man closer, the action pressing him deeper within the man, causing them to quietly moan in unison. 

“You don’t need to apologize, Amatus.” Dorian peppers more kisses over the side of Veslyn’s face. “It’s okay. You’re doing so good Ves, I’m so proud of you.” He praises, not daring to move again. “Do you want me to stop?” He asks, but Veslyn shakes his head feverishly, and he feels Veslyn’s hips rocking. Only then does he begin to slowly move in and out again. “You needn’t worry, I’ve got you now.”

A sob rips from Veslyn’s chest as he clings onto Dorian. It felt like all the emotions he had been bottling up through the week had decided to all spill out at this very moment, each feeling of shame and dread washing out over him and stinging wounds he didn’t know he even had. It was cathartic; it felt good to let it all out like this. He would be sure to apologize to Dorian once more later because he knew this must be terribly unattractive, even in his addled state. 

“Don’t stop, please, _harder_.” His eyes are blurry with tears, his words shaking as hiccups wrack his body. But he needs this. He couldn’t bear the thought of Dorian stopping, of leaving him. He needed to feel the man inside of him, filling him and making him feel whole of making him feel loved and like he was worth something. 

Dorian gives a short nod of his head, his arms tightening around Veslyn as his thrusts shift into something harder and faster. Something more primal, something that he’s more used to giving Veslyn. And Veslyn eats it right up, head tipping back as he cries out with each thrust. A mixture of broken elvish, curses, and his name rolling off his tongue like a mantra. It bounces off the stone walls, and if Dorian hadn’t closed the doors earlier, he’s sure that the entirety of Skyhold would be listening in.

“You’re so good, Ves.” Dorian murmurs into the elf’s ear, nipping gently at the lobe. He gives a particularly hard thrust, being sure to aim for the man’s prostate. “So good to me, absolutely perfect.”

Veslyn thrashes in Dorian’s hold from the assault on his prostate, more tears flowing from his eyes as he pushes back against Dorian. He isn’t sure if the tears were from pleasure or anguish any more, his mind too hazy to really discern anything beyond how Dorian was making him feel. 

“Close!” Veslyn warns, hands coming up to trace up Dorian’s back before he dragged his nails down to leave his mark.

“Then come for me.” Before pressing his lips to Veslyn’s, Dorian murmurs, kissing him in a mess of teeth, tongue, and desperation. He moves a hand between them to wrap around Veslyn’s cock, squeezing him tightly before stroking him in time with the brutal pace he set. It didn’t take long for Veslyn to come, spilling over Dorian’s fist with a loud cry. His back snapping like a bow as nails dug into Dorian’s toned back. He was sure that there would be small crescent-shaped marks later. It doesn’t take long for Dorian to follow him over the edge, a few more thrusts before he filled the man up with his seed.

They linger like this for a moment, catching their breath as they soak up the feelings of floating down from their highs. Slowly, he pulls out of Veslyn, some of his cum dribbling out and dripping down the curve of his ass. It’s a good look at the man, he thinks. He rolls over to lay beside the elf, drawing him up and into his arms. 

They sit in silence for some time, and Veslyn can feel himself nearly drifting off to sleep to the rhythm of Dorian’s heart. For the first time in forever, he feels like he will get a good night’s rest. That he won’t wake up in a sheen of sweat, fear constricting his throat and a cry waiting on the tip of his tongue.

“I love you too, Dorian.” Veslyn says, his soft voice cutting through the silence with ease. “And I’m sorry about _that_ , I don’t know what came over me.”

“I told you, amatus, it’s fine.” Dorian assures him, running his fingers through Veslyn’s dark, disheveled hair, the pad of his thumb brushing over the overgrown sides of his undercut. Dorian would have to remember to help the man shave it tomorrow. He cranes his neck to lock eyes with the elf, a sudden seriousness to his tone, “And I meant what I said, I’m proud of you. Of everything you’ve done so far and everything you will do.”

“Thank you. It means a lot.” Veslyn hums softly, rolling over so that he can look at the high stone ceiling. “Sometimes, I just feel so alone. I feel so lost. I don’t know what I’m doing.” His voice dips, threatening to waver, but he doesn’t try to hide it. Knows that he doesn’t need to. Not in front of Dorian, not anymore. 

“You will always have me, Ves. Whenever you feel lost, I will always be here to guide you back.” Dorian assures him, and it does wonder to quell the anxieties that had begun to bubble within his chest. He wasn’t sure what he had done to deserve such a partner like Dorian. “We were all worried about you, even Sera.”

Veslyn’s nose crinkled a bit at that, moving to prop himself up on his elbow to look down at the man. “Seriously? Sera was worried about me? I thought she hated me.” 

“Tsk, she doesn’t hate you. Just thinks you’re one of those pompous assholes. Like me. But she still respects you and what you do.” Dorian chuckles with a shake of his head “Cole was particularly troubled though.”

“I know. I’m pretty sure he was the one leaving me bread rolls.” Veslyn smiles fondly at that. He liked Cole a lot, worried about him more than was probably healthy. Cole is a compassionate man, always looking to aid those who needed it. He would have to remember to stop by and speak with Cole, express his thanks and listen to his cryptic talk of Veslyn’s psyche. Tomorrow perhaps. 

“Sounds like him.” Dorian nods his head with a smile, “Now come on, you need rest. By the looks of the bags under your eyes, you haven’t been sleeping.”

“You’ll stay right?” It’s a stupid question, he knows, but he feels compelled by the lingering remnants of fear to ask it.

“Of course, besides, your bed is far superior to mine.” Dorian chuckles softly, dragging the blankets up and over them. 


End file.
